Love Scene, Take Two

by Alex Evansley

  “Morning, Teddy,” Emmy says brightly. “Doin’ all right?”

  He jerks his jacket zipper up and down a few times and says, “Doin’ well, thank you. A little cracked out on caffeine, but doing well. You?”

  Emmy laughs. “I know what you mean. Bennett and I stopped for coffee this morning and we both finished our lattes before we got here.”

  Bennett should have contributed something to the conversation by now, but every time she opens her mouth nothing comes out.

  “Yeah, Caldwell and I had a big night the other night—I feel like I’m still recovering,” Teddy says, giving Bennett a lazy smile. Bennett wants to ask him if it gets exhausting, being this extra.

  Emmy throws a smug glance between them. “I heard.”

  A PA appears and tells Teddy he’s needed in makeup.

  “Okay—I’ll see you two later,” he says, letting himself be steered away to one of the standby stations. He throws one last grin over his shoulder and waves, and Bennett’s hand swings back to her side before she even registers making the decision to wave back.

  Emmy sighs and covers the bottom half of her face with her iPad. “He’s so cute.”

  “Not helping,” Bennett mutters, walking away. Burt told her he wants her behind the camera with him today to get a feel for how shooting works, and Bennett plans on taking cover there until someone tells her to move.

  Twenty minutes later, Burt’s on the bullhorn announcing for everyone to get to their places, and Teddy and Olivia are running through blocking one last time before the camera rolls, and Bennett might be sweating through her shirt. The scene Burt chose to film first is supposed to be a quick, easy scene to get everyone back into the ebbs and flows of a movie set, but just because it’s quick and easy doesn’t mean it feels that way. It actually feels like sensory overload pandemonium. Especially when Burt takes his seat behind the camera and jokingly tells Bennett to “gird her loins.”

  There’s a dramatic, collective pause right before Burt calls action when the entire cast and crew stills, almost like they’re taking a moment of silence for the last few seconds of normalcy before their lives become nothing but this for the next eight weeks. The energy crackles across set in the quiet. The excitement is raw. And the importance of it all is intimidating as hell.

  “And—action.”

  The scene plays out almost identically to how Bennett pictured it when she and Burt wrote it into the script. It’s just some casual dialogue between a few secondary characters in front of a green screen, but as Burt works with the production team to get the best angles and shots, Bennett finds herself at a loss for words for the second time that morning.

  This is, without a doubt, the coolest thing she’s ever seen.

  “Are you still breathing? I can’t tell,” Burt leans over and says after who knows how long. Bennett thinks she nods. Hopefully.

  Burt calls cut at the end of the scene and the set breaks into a frenzy. PAs run around offering people water. A makeup artist yells about not having enough translucent setting powder. Burt gets swept away by at least five crewmembers. Even parts of the set are in the process of being changed out, and Bennett doesn’t understand how all this chaos lasts for only thirty seconds before coming to a halt as quickly as it started.

  Burt calls action again.

  Teddy walks into the frame on the camera monitor in front of Bennett, his entire demeanor changed.

  Bennett did her research on Teddy the week before his audition (which, in retrospect, makes her feel exceptionally creepy), so she thought she had at least a decent idea of what to expect coming into this. She marathoned his show, watched his movies, worked her way through an embarrassing number of YouTube interviews … and now, two minutes into filming his first Parachutes scene, Bennett realizes she could not have been less prepared.

  Watching Teddy act on TV and in movies was one thing. Watching him act in real life is entirely different. At one point Bennett actually sits up and leans around the camera to see it happening live, and it goes without saying that despite all the drama and bullshit over the past five months, it was hands-down one of the best decisions of preproduction to cast Teddy Sharpe in this movie.

  Bennett catches Teddy’s eye in the middle of a decently long monologue. He doesn’t even miss a syllable before glancing away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The first three days of filming are so chaotic it’s like the movie is operating on its own space-time continuum. A fifteen-hour day on set feels like it passes in thirty minutes, and for every shot they get, ten more spring up in the queue. How is it mathematically possible for films to be created in such a small window? How do people have time to sleep and eat and not die?

  By the end of the fourth day, Bennett is convinced her internal clock isn’t cut out for life in the industry. Burt made a set rule that he’ll always call for an early wrap the Monday after a weekend shoot, and Bennett almost cried when she saw the seven p.m. wrap time on the schedule this morning.

  Emmy left set after lunch today to finalize some things for the book signing here in a few weeks. She took Bennett’s car back to the hotel and promised to pick her up on set at seven p.m. sharp, which seemed like a solid plan until filming wrapped for the day at six thirty.

  As the set is clearing out, Bennett tries to drag out a conversation with Burt about the scenes they shot today, but after about three minutes he gets distracted by one of the producers and cuts the conversation short. Thinking she can at least hide out in the cafeteria warehouse until Emmy comes to get her, Bennett heads off toward the set door as fast as she can without looking conspicuous.

  She almost makes it, too.

  “You’re not avoiding me, are you?” Teddy asks, jumping out of nowhere and blocking her escape route. Like, there’s an actual hop-skip and some bouncing involved.

  Bennett skids to a halt and says, “Nope,” because yep, that’s exactly what she’s doing. It’s a miracle she made it through the weekend, honestly—what with all the random texts from him that went unanswered and the attempts to chat her up between takes on set. Bennett’s proud of her acquired talent for looking busy when everyone knows she doesn’t actually serve a purpose on set. It helps keep her sane—helps her avoid situations like this.

  Teddy raises an eyebrow when Bennett starts past him. His fingers wrap around her arm, right below her elbow, and stop her from getting too far away. The shock of it has Bennett angling back toward him without thinking, and he brushes his hand all the way down her forearm until his fingertips press into her palm. Which—not acceptable.

  “Hey, you sure about that?” he asks.

  Bennett glances down at their hands, like, four times before her brain finally figures out what to do about this. She isn’t sure if it’s the way he’s running a thumb over her knuckles or the look in his eye, but she ends up pulling her hand away and blurting out, “Maybe a little.”

  Teddy laughs and studies her for a moment, taking a half step into her space. Which, again—not acceptable.

  “Okay, so I know you’re maybe avoiding me a little and stuff, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.” He leans in just a fraction closer and says, “Wanted to see if you had any interest in finishing that conversation we started Thursday?”

  No. There is no interest.

  “I mean, from what I can remember, we touched on some key points that definitely need some follow-up,” he says lightly, and he would be smug about this while Bennett’s trying so hard to keep herself upright. She can’t even think of something sarcastic and safe to say back, because now she’s got it in her head that it’s likely Teddy remembers more about that night than she does.

  “So what do you think?” Teddy asks, jerking his head toward the exit door. “I heard there’s a restaurant, like, five minutes from our hotel that’s supposed to be good. Are you hungry?”

  “Er—I’m fine,” Bennett stammers out, because nope. “Emmy’s picking me up.”

  Needless to say, Teddy se
es straight through that poor attempt of an excuse. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping the screen a few times.

  “What’re you doing?” Bennett asks when he presses it to his ear.

  He ignores her.

  “Hey, Emmy? Yeah—it’s Teddy.”

  Bennett lunges at him.

  “Yeah,” he laughs, leaning away to keep his phone out of reach. “Hey, have you left the hotel yet?”

  Bennett’s mouth drops open and she lunges again. This time, though, Teddy gets ahold of her shoulder and spins her around, crossing a forearm over her sternum and pinning her back against him. Bennett stamps on his foot.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll give her a ride back—ow!” Teddy howls, half laughing, half cringing. He finally lets go, but by then he’s off the phone and glaring at her. “That was so uncalled for, Caldwell.”

  “And canceling my ride wasn’t?” she asks, more irritated by the smile trying to creep across her face than the actual context of the situation.

  “Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do when people are avoiding you.”

  Bennett scoffs. “Cool rhyme.”

  Teddy grins. “Yeah. Thought you might like that.”

  * * *

  So this is apparently how Bennett’s life is going to be now—a random assortment of pop-up moments of Teddy Sharpe that leave her wondering if she’s always been this pathetically tractable when a hot guy gives her attention, or if it’s just specific to tall, lanky, and infuriatingly endearing ones.

  “The dealership just gave you this for the next two months?” she asks skeptically as Teddy drives them to dinner.

  “Yeah, my manager set it up for me.” He shrugs. And he looks damn good doing it in the driver’s seat of his fancy new car. Bennett wants to throw herself out. “The dealership probably wants me to be seen in it or something.”

  He turns on the radio, settling on a station playing an Allman Brothers song.

  “I found this station the other day when I was driving to set,” he says, pulling his hand back and splaying it on the center console. “It’s not as good as the one you guys listen to on the lake, but it’s not bad.”

  “Where are we going?” Bennett asks, staring through the windshield. She will not allow the conversation anywhere near that weekend on the lake. She’s had no time to prepare.

  “This cool seafood spot a PA told me about. I got takeout from there for lunch yesterday,” he says, then steals a nervous glance at her. “Shit, I didn’t even ask if you like seafood. We can go somewhere else if you don’t—”

  “It’s fine, Teddy.”

  Ten minutes later, a hostess shows them to their table, and Bennett busies herself with a menu as soon as they’re seated. It’s better than focusing on how stupidly intimate the atmosphere is at this restaurant. The few people around them are talking too softly; there are too many Edison-style light bulbs hanging from the ceiling; and there’s too much of something charging the mood lighting around their table. There should be health code regulations against making guests feel this romantically victimized.

  “Hell yes.” Teddy fist pumps. He points to something on the menu and says, “We have to get this shrimp appetizer. It’s amazing.”

  Bennett waits until after the waitress has left with their drink and appetizer orders to ask, “So, was this a spur-of-the-moment kidnapping, or premeditated?”

  He laughs. “There might have been a little premeditation involved, yeah. You’ve been actively avoiding me, Caldwell, remember?”

  “Actively avoiding is a stretch,” she says.

  “Bullshit. And don’t try to tell me to not flatter myself, either.”

  Bennett shrugs. “Not my fault we’ve had different schedules.”

  “True,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re not getting producing credits for this movie, are you?”

  “No? Why would I?”

  Teddy sips his water. “I mean, with all the production meetings you go to and the work you did on adapting the script and, like, how involved Burt has you … it seems like you do just as much work and maybe even have more influence than some of the producers.”

  Bennett raises an eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me?”

  Teddy eyes her for a moment, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Then he leans forward, rests his elbow on the table, and says, “Don’t flatter yourself, superstar.” And he looks so pleased with himself that Bennett has to smile.

  The waitress comes back a few minutes later with an elaborate-looking appetizer plate. There are four different kinds of dipping sauces surrounded by enough shrimp to feed the world’s hungry. Teddy looks like this is all he really needs in life.

  “Oh my God,” he groans, popping two shrimp in his mouth and reaching for a third. “My mom would be so distraught I didn’t offer you some first, but I’m kind of an ill-mannered barbarian when seafood is involved. Don’t let it gross you out.”

  “Ill-mannered barbarian is redundant,” Bennett says, and Teddy snorts into his water glass. “What’s your mom like?”

  “Literally the best person on the planet. Same with my dad. And my younger sister, Amanda, most of the time,” he tells her. “Speaking of—how’s your family?”

  “Everyone’s good. Tanner’s freaking out about graduation. My parents are pretending they’re not freaking out, too. The usual.”

  “What about Will?”

  Bennett grins. “He’s losing his mind over the movie.”

  “We should for sure hook him up with a set visit,” Teddy says through a mouthful of shrimp. Bennett wants to smush his face.

  “Working on it,” she says instead.

  “How did the rest of the McGearys take the news?”

  Bennett thinks of Liz and how she always manages to make everything big to happen in Bennett’s life about herself. “They … were surprised.”

  Teddy stops eating. “Don’t tell me Liz pulled some more shitty stunts. I’ll break a bitch in half—”

  That startles a genuine laugh out of Bennett.

  If by “shitty stunts” he means Internet stalking all the actors cast in the Parachutes movie and constantly giving Bennett updates about one in particular, then yeah—she’s pulled some more shitty stunts. It wasn’t enough that Bennett already had to deal with Teddy blowing up her phone in the fall. She also had Liz’s constant stream of texts asking how she’s “holding up” when she pieced together more about the result of that weekend than Bennett wanted to let on. She even had the nerve to tell Bennett she knew Teddy had a girlfriend when he was there in July, and she was trying to do Bennett a favor by not saying anything, since she “didn’t want Bennett to get hurt.”

  Liz and her fucking favors.

  Bennett doesn’t have the emotional funds available at the moment to handle talking about Liz while she knows Teddy’s biding his time before he brings up Thursday again, so she reaches for a shrimp and asks which dipping sauce is his favorite.

  Teddy’s eyes light up.

  “Try this one.” He points to the one that sorta looks like honey, which freaks Bennett out a little.

  “Not bad,” she says, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

  Teddy’s eaten almost half the plate by the time Bennett tries out the other three. One of the sauces is spicier than she anticipated, and even after chugging most of her water, it’s still tickling the back of her throat.

  “Caldwell, you good?”

  Bennett coughs, pushing her hair back from her face. “Yeah—that last one was just a little hotter than I thought.”

  But there must have been some spice or something left on her fingers, because it feels like she’d gotten some near her eye when she pushed her hair back. She picks up her napkin and dabs at the spot just below her tear duct. As soon as she makes contact, it’s like someone has thrown itching powder in her face.

  And she’s still coughing.

  And her heart’s starting to race.

  “Seriously Bennett, are you okay?”

&
nbsp; The concern flickering across Teddy’s face is what ultimately reminds Bennett of what an idiot she is. Panic slams into her a half second later—which, as her doctor told her when she was eight years old, is something she needs to avoid at all costs during an allergic reaction. God. Bennett’s usually so careful about what she eats at restaurants, too. How the hell did she let herself get distracted enough to forget to check ingredients?

  Bennett can feel her eyes and tongue already starting to swell, and she knows her throat’s on deck. Panic, in its purest form, is settling in for the show now.

  Teddy curses and jumps up suddenly, almost tackling one of the waiters walking by.

  “Are there tree nuts in these sauces?” he demands, pointing back at their table. Bennett laughs, even as she thumbs at the hives popping up on her neck. Her left eye is almost swollen shut and Teddy still needs to ask if tree nuts are in the food?

  She catches something the waiter says to Teddy about spiced walnut shavings, and yep—that’ll do it.

  “We need to go,” she says as calmly as she can. This does not need to be made into a scene. Of course, by now her right eye has almost caught up with her left. She can only imagine what she looks like. There’s a gasp from somewhere to her right, and a hand hooks around her arm a second later.

  “Do you have an EpiPen?” Teddy asks, helping her stand.

  “Er—no,” Bennett admits as he leads her through the tables (and all the people who are probably staring).

  “Are you kidding me? You’re this allergic to something and you don’t carry an EpiPen?” Teddy snaps, and no, Bennett does not need that attitude right now. She wants to snap back at him that she hasn’t had an allergic reaction in years, but it sounds like he might be panicking more than she is, so she lets it slide. She also doesn’t mention she’s supposed to avoid anything that increases her heart rate during anaphylaxis, and that he either needs to move the hand he has splayed across her rib cage or stop lacing and relacing their fingers together. Something.

  “Are you breathing okay?”